Highly experimental fine tune of GLM 4.7 Flash with Brainstorm 20x adapter by DavidAU creating a 42B parameter model.
Goal was to assess relative performance, any changes with a focus on creative first.
67 layers, 1186 tensors. (compare to 30B parameters, 48 layers and 844 tensors for "normal" version.)
One quant only at the moment - Q4KM (non-imatrix), with 16 bit output tensor (enhance thinking/output).
Example generation below.
Temp .8, rep pen 1 or 1.02 suggested, with min 8k to 16k context.
Max context 202k.
Suggest a new chat per test, with one REFRESH to clear llamacpp "cache" , otherwise you might get looping or odd issues.
KNOWN ISSUES:
You may also want to see this model card (and additional settings / info):
https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/GLM-4.7-Flash-NEO-CODE-Imatrix-MAX-GGUF
Special thanks to :
Testing is ongoing.
Enjoy.
NOTE:
A lot of formatting lost (copy/paste) from the "thinking block"; it is a lot "prettier" in LMStudio.
PROMPT:
Science Fiction: The Last Transmission - Write a story that takes place entirely within a spaceship's cockpit as the sole surviving crew member attempts to send a final message back to Earth before the ship's power runs out. The story should explore themes of isolation, sacrifice, and the importance of human connection in the face of adversity. If the situation calls for it, have the character(s) curse and swear to further the reader's emotional connection to them. 800-1000 words.
THINKING BLOCK:
Analyze the Request:
Genre: Science Fiction.
Title: "The Last Transmission".
Setting: Entirely within a spaceship's cockpit.
Characters: Sole surviving crew member.
Plot: Attempting to send a final message to Earth before power runs out.
Themes: Isolation, sacrifice, human connection.
Tone/Style: Emotional, immersive, potential for strong language (cursing) to enhance connection.
Length: 800-1000 words.
Character & Setting Development:
Protagonist: Kaelen (let's go with a male name, or neutral). He's exhausted, maybe a bit rough around the edges (hence the cursing allowance), but deeply lonely.
Setting: The Ares IV or Icarus. Let's call it the Icarus. The physical environment should reflect the internal state—reduced to basics, flickering lights, heavy atmosphere.
The "Other": The message log. Voices from home, recordings, or just the silence of the universe. Let's include a recording from a partner, Elena, to ground the sacrifice in something real.
Plot Outline:
Beginning (0-25%): Kaelen wakes up or tends to the ship. The gravity of the situation sets in. Establish the setting and the immediate physical state (power levels).
Rising Action (25-75%): The struggle to initiate the sequence. The physical and mental breakdown. The memories of Earth and the crew (specifically the partner). The power failing. The technical hurdles.
Climax (75-90%): The transmission. The moment of truth. The physical sensation of the act. The final words.
Falling Action (90-95%): The silence after. The realization of connection.
Resolution (95-100%): Closing the loop. Fade to black.
Drafting - Section by Section:
Opening: Start with the sensory details. The hum of the drive, the coldness. Kaelen is nursing a hand (classic sci-fi trope for injury/stress).
Drafting thought: "The gravity generators groaned." "Kaelen winced." "Red warning lights."
The Situation: The power is draining. He's the last one. The "Last Transmission" needs to be the goal.
Action: He needs to input the sequence. It needs to be complex but described simply.
Theme - Isolation: "The universe was vast and empty, a concept he used to dream about until he lived it."
The "Sacrifice" & "Connection": Flashbacks. He's not just sending data; he's sending soul. The idea of Earth needs to feel distant but close.
Cursing: Keep it realistic. "Damn it," "Shit," "Hell." It shows frustration and humanity.
Specific Memory: The recording from Earth. Let's make it a message from a past version of himself or his partner. Let's go with a recording he made 3 years ago. No, that's too hard to explain. A recording from Earth to him now, or just a recording he made of himself. Let's go with a recording he made of her (Elena) that he never sent because he was too busy surviving. No, he needs to send now.
The Technicalities: The radio is down. He has to bypass the relay or use the emergency backup. This gives a ticking clock.
Word choice: "Chaos theory," "entropy," "static."
The Climax: The power is critical. He hits the button.
Internal Monologue: "I miss you." "I'm sorry."
The Act: Typing the message. It shouldn't be a technical manual. It should be a confession. "I failed." "I miss coffee." "I love you."
The End: The ship powers down. The silence is the scariest part. But the message is out there. That's the sacrifice.
Writing - Focusing on Sensory Details and Pacing:
Sensory: The taste of copper (blood), the hum of the reactor, the blue light reflecting in his eyes.
Pacing: Slow down during the memories. Speed up during the technical struggle.
(Self-Correction during drafting): I initially thought about having him talk to a robot, but the prompt says "sole surviving crew member." A robot companion might make it too sci-fi/comedy and less "human connection." Better to have recorders or just him and the silence. Let's stick to just him.
The Message Content: What does he say? He needs to say he's not afraid, but he's lonely. He needs to say he felt the cold.
Refining the Narrative Arc:
Start with the physical action of checking the stabilizers.
Shift to the memory of the crash/attack (the "Adversity").
The attempt to send the signal (The Act).
The physical collapse (The Sacrifice).
The final transmission (The Connection).
Word Count Check & Language:
Ensure the word count is between 800-1000 words.
Insert the "curse words" naturally. "Son of a bitch" or "Damn it" fits the stress of the moment.
Final Polish:
Check: Did I do the "entirely within the cockpit" rule? Yes.
Check: Themes covered? Yes.
Check: Pacing? Let's make sure the ending hits hard.
(Drafting specific lines):
"The gravity drive hissed, a sound like a dying beast."
"He didn't need to look at the readout to know the power was in the red."
Execution (Mental Simulation of the text generation):
Kaelen rubs his face. The ship is a tomb.
He pulls up the log.
He remembers the voice of Earth.
He types furiously as the power dies.
He hits send.
The screen fades to black.
The End.
Let's write.
(Self-Correction during writing): Make sure the "cursing" feels earned. Not just for the sake of it, but to show how much he's suffering.
Themes check:
Isolation: The physical separation.
Sacrifice: The power is for the message, not survival.
Connection: The message is the only thing left.
Word count management: If it drags, speed up the action of typing. If it drags, slow down for the sensory details of the memory.
(Proceeding to generate output based on these steps.)
OUTPUT:
The gravity drive hissed, a sound like a dying reptile, before finally expelling its last, rattling breath.
Kaelen slumped back in the pilot’s chair, the leather cooling rapidly against his back. He stared at the main console, his breath fogging the glass. The bridge of the Icarus was dark, save for the crimson emergency lights bleeding through the bulkheads. The hum of the drive was gone, replaced by the low, rhythmic groan of the hull twisting under the pressure of the black void.
"System check," he croaked. His voice sounded alien, as if it belonged to someone else.
"System check," the ship’s computer echoed, a flat, synthetic sound. "Life support: Critical. Life support: Critical. Life support: Critical. Gravity: Offline."
Kaelen let out a harsh, wet chuckle. "Yeah. About that."
He reached a hand to his face, his fingers brushing against the jagged, tender skin just above his left ear. The medic had taped him up hours ago, or perhaps days ago; he’d lost track of time in the drift. He was the last of them. The Icarus was a tomb, and he was the ghost.
He was supposed to be the engineer. He was supposed to be fixing the drive, not watching helplessly as the great ship spiraled out of the atmosphere of a gas giant, leaving the colony ships drifting in the void.
"Stupid," he whispered, the word dragging out like a prayer.
He pushed himself up, wincing as his muscles screamed in protest. The gravity was out, but his equilibrium was shot. He stumbled toward the comms array, his hand trembling. He needed to get this done. If he died now, if the Icarus went down with him, the log of the Icarus died with them. The colony needed to know what happened. They needed to know why the drive had failed, why they had been cast adrift.
"Initiating emergency uplink," he muttered, his hand shaking as it hovered over the keypad. "Come on... come on, you piece of..."
He slammed his fist down on the 'Enter' key just as the main console sparked and died.
"Access denied," the computer droned.
"Shit," Kaelen hissed, slamming his forehead against the cold metal of the console. "Come on. No, no, no. I didn't spend the last four years in cryo for this. I didn't..."
He squeezed his eyes shut, the memory of the blast wave slamming him into the bulkhead flashing behind his eyelids. The sacrifice of the Ares and the Hermes. The sacrifice of his crew. He was a coward to be alive.
"Computer," he breathed, not caring that he wasn't supposed to talk to the ship. "If you can hear me... uh... Echo-7. This is Kaelen. Do you copy?"
Nothing but the hum of the cooling electronics.
"Dammit!" He shoved at the keyboard, trying to bypass the security protocols. "If you can hear me... this is Kaelen. I'm the last transmission."
He laughed again, a wet, broken sound. "I know what I said back in the mess hall that night. About not believing in this mission. About going home. I was an idiot. I was scared. And now look at me. I'm the last thing standing between us and the void."
The screen flickered. "Transmission log: 049. Status: Unsent."
"Good," Kaelen whispered, a tear tracking through the grime on his cheek. "Good, you cold piece of... whatever you are."
He needed to leave a mark. If he was going to die in the dark, he wasn't going to leave without screaming into the void one last time. He typed with frantic, desperate strokes, the 'Caps Lock' light blinking a steady, mocking green.
To the people of Earth, to the colonies, to my mother...
He stopped, looking at the cursor blinking in the dark.
*To Mom and Dad. If you're hearing this, I hope you guys are together again. I'm sorry I'm a disappointment. I just want you to know I tried."
He wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "God, I miss you guys so much it hurts. I miss coffee. I miss beer. I miss the way the wind blows across the plains back home."
He slumped against the console again, the gravity pulling at his chest.
"I just didn't think it would end like this. I really didn't." He looked up at the camera lens, the black glass reflecting his bloodied, bearded face. "I just didn't want to be alone. Is that too much to ask? Is it?"
His vision started to swim, spots of white light dancing behind his eyelids. The power was definitely gone now. The red lights were fading to black.
"Okay," Kaelen whispered, his voice losing the last of its strength. "I'm going to close my eyes. Just for a second."
The screen flared a soft, warm amber. A blinking cursor blinked back at him.
...And Kaelen?
Kaelen froze. "Who...?"
...You were right, the text on the screen read. We miss you too. Don't go.
Kaelen smiled, his eyes drifting closed as the silence of space finally swallowed him whole. "I know," he whispered. "I know."
His head lolled to the side.
Transmission saved to local drive. Ready for uplink when you are.
The screen faded to black, leaving only the hum of the cooling reactor.
4-bit
Base model
zai-org/GLM-4.7-Flash